


The Untold Christmas

by Crazythatcounts



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazythatcounts/pseuds/Crazythatcounts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larden revisits an old Christmas. </p><p>Written as a Christmas Gift to a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Untold Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Digi_Wears_Goggles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Digi_Wears_Goggles/gifts).



It was Christmas again. The cold of winter days seeped into the house with a strange, unwavering fierceness that couldn’t be stopped with any number of blankets. He couldn’t get warm anyway, so keeping warm didn’t matter, but the cold simply increased the number of things Larden would consider dangerous to his being. 

It also increased the reasons Master Cruentus had to harm him. 

It wasn’t that he did anything wrong, of course. He’d deliver the blood to the vampiric minions that Mr. Cruentus kept for his personal business, he’d help the Lady with chores and shopping for the big day, he’d hang decorations and bake cookies and generally, he liked having more to do on the lonely nights. It was simply that having more to do meant he had more to accidently screw up. 

It was a few days before Christmas, and even though it was the season of cheer and kindness, that did not mean it was any exception to the norm. 

He’d been ordered to deliver more blood as usual, and he did as he was told, as usual. It was late in the evening hours, and a black, cold night dotted with snow, even though there was a full moon forming. Larden shivered. Bloody full moon, might ruin his Christmas. He wondered if it’d pass in a week, before Christmas Eve. Santa wouldn’t be much help if it was the full moon. 

When he arrived at the meeting place, it was, well, empty. Unexpectedly so. Of course, this sent him straight into defense mode, because when vampires didn’t show up to their meetings, there were only two reasons: they were attacked by something bigger and therefore something that would put him in danger, or they were in hiding, waiting to attack. 

He didn’t see the bats until it was a little too late. 

They screeched through the sky like watermelon sized fuzzy bullets with wings and claws and all sorts of sharp teeth, and the ten of them quickly knocked Larden to the pavement. The duffle of blood was ripped from his back, and he felt a boot on his spine, holding him down. 

“Well, look what we have here. A fledgling _and_ a newbie to the country.” The accent was sultry and sent panic down Larden’s spine. He struggled against the pavement to no avail, before two sets of hands grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him to his feet. They held him fast, no matter how hard he struggled against him, and then he felt a strange pain in the back of his head. 

The next time he woke up, he was in a cabin. His vision wouldn’t stay still long enough to really catch details, but there was a fire, a fire place, ten other figures, and a cup of blood waving under his nose. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he smelt it, igniting his senses and setting his mind on fire. Oh god, he hadn’t fed in so _long…_

By the time they let him go, it was nearing dawn, and he was a bit less bruised than an angry man’s punching bag. They’d spent the night torturing him, cutting him to ribbons, and he nearly went inhuman on them, he was so hungry. He ran all the way home, leaving a blood trail in his wake, panting and too tired to turn into a bat to make life easier. At one point, he slipped on wet grass, sending him rolling down a hill and getting him muddy and wet. He dreaded going back into the house. 

The dread was realized when he saw the man of the house standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed and reeking of menace and hate. 

“Larden, you’re late.” His voice echoed across the empty hall, hiding in the dark shadows and mingling with the steady drip of mud from Larden’s pants. He didn’t seem to notice the bruises, the purples and the dark reds and the thin cuts seeping a muddy ooze down Larden’s arms. He either didn’t notice or he didn’t seem to care, either way, things remained the same. Larden worked his way up the stairs, trying to get to his room before the sun caught him, but Mr. Cruentus stopped him. “What have you been doing all night?” The tone was harsh, like a Master asking a slave to justify actions even though the words wouldn’t have mattered anyway. 

“I, uh, attacked.” Larden had tried to explain, but he really didn’t know what to say. He was never good with English. He formed the right words in his head, he just couldn’t ever make his master understand. He gestured to the bruises, the cuts, and he felt his head spin from the lack of blood and he really just wanted to get to his room because it was growing light outside and while there was no immediate threat to his being there would be soon because it was already giving him a headache. “Vampires. _Ihr comrades_.” 

“They wouldn’t attack you.” The Master half sang, half growled, and Larden knew right then he was in huge, huge trouble and there was nothing he could do about it. He backed up and the top of the stairs greeted him, making him wobble, ready to send him tumbling down roughly two floors of stairs. “You’re one of them. They’re not like that. You little liar.” The last word was a deep throated growl , and then a hand shot out and contacted Larden right in the gut, sending him reeling backwards. 

He would always remember the feeling of falling. The weightless, worldless feeling of being suspended in the air for that fraction of a second. Then the stairs hit him with a cheery hello, and he tumbled all the way down, hearing bones cracking and ribs breaking and he was sure his spine went at some point but hey, he was immortal and it was totally cool. Well, okay, maybe not. 

There was silence as he lay there, feeling the sun getting higher and his head hurting more and he didn’t want to open his eyes because his vision would swim and he was just so _hungry…_

“Larden!” The tiny voice was the one thing that woke him up. He tried to sit up, but failed, feeling the bones in his back shift painfully in the wrong way. Lenore’s tiny hands touched his arm, and then he chuckled when he heard her make a noise at the sticky grossness. “You’re all muddy.”

“Larden?” The other voice was her mother. “Oh good _gracious_ what happened to you?” She knelt by him, cradling his head in her lap and for a moment he felt safe and secure. 

“I, uh…” He considered telling her what really happened. That her husband’s minions attacked him, that he ran home from a strange cabin and fell in the mud and then her husband shoved him down the stairs without any provocation. He truly considered telling her that, but he realized there’d be more pain than him falling down the stairs and inflicted on more than just him. He wouldn’t be the only one hurt, and after a glance at the tiny little girl he’d sworn to protect, he decided that wasn’t worth it. 

“Bad night. Fell. Stairs.” He insisted. She looked at him, as though she knew that it wasn’t possible for him to get so badly beaten through stairs alone, but he stared back at her with the same kind of resolute conviction. “Fell.”

“Mommy, is my Larlar going to be okay?” Lenore asked, looking up at her mother with innocent eyes. She nodded, helping the vampire to his feet before the sun could get at him. 

“I fine.” Larden insisted, smiling at his teeny tiny ward. She grinned at him, holding his hand and swinging it as her mother helped him up the stairs to the bath off of Lenore’s room, fitted with black sheets on the windows so that Larden could give her her morning bath and not turn to dust. 

“You’re muddy and mommy’s worried ‘n when mommy’s worried then things are not good.” Lenore said, sitting on the edge of the tub next to Larden. He was in the process of wiping the mud off his face with a wet towel, grimacing at the pinkish tint. “Larlar, you’re bleeding!” 

“Is nothing.” Larden cooed, reaching out to pet the three year old on the head. She wrapped her arms around him and, after taking a moment to stand on his lap because she really was that little, she kissed the cut on his cheek. 

“Kiss it ‘n make it better.” She said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Be better, Larden.”

A few nights later, Christmas Eve, Larden hung outside her door after tucking her in, listening to the rustle of sheets as she apparently crawled out of bed. Then, he heard her voice, and it made him smile as brightly as he had ever smiled. 

“Dear Santa. Please make my Larlar feel better for Christmas so we can play and have fun and he can be mine forever. Love, Lenore.”

He couldn’t wait for the next morning, when she’d find him sitting under the tree with a bow on his head. 

~*~

“Larden!” She was calling his name. He jumped, looking down to see the twenty two year old had climbed into his lap at some point. Lenore had a present in her hands, and she was smiling brightly. 

“ _Ja_?” Larden asked, crossing his legs in his seat because there was something about Lenore’s pajamas actually being a pair he owned for no real reason that kept his attention in an _interesting_ way. 

“I was _saying_ , Merry Christmas.” Lenore pushed the box closer, so that he’d open it. Larden did as he was told, setting the stick on bow aside to find a new vest nestled among tissue paper. 

“Thank you.” Larden set the vest aside, an idea coming to his head. He grinned. “I have one more present for you, Lenore.” He said. “Remember when you were little? Uh, _drei_?” He held up three fingers, and she nodded, a confused expression passing on her face. “And you asked Santa to make me feel better for Christmas?”

“You heard that?” Lenore sounded a little aghast, but then she laughed. “Of course I remember that. You fell down the stairs and you had to stay in bed for a few days.”

“And you said so I could be yours forever?” Larden pressed, scooting a little closer to Lenore on the carpet. 

“Yes?”

“Merry Christmas, Lenore.” Larden stuck the bow on his head. “I am, and always have been, yours forever.”

 _Forever hers and no one else’s_. He mused, as they hugged. _I think I can do that_.


End file.
